


The Prank - Boys Don't Cry

by YouBlitheringIdiot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, James Potter is a Good Friend, M/M, MWPP, Marauders era, Pantsing, Pre-Relationship, Sirius Black is a Good Sibling, Snape's Worst Memory, Some Fluff, The Prank, boys don't cry lyrics are made for this, canon marauders, cringy flirting attempts, jily, lots of swearing, not for you if you like Snape, pre-Jily, pre-wolfstar, whomping willow - Freeform, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 01:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouBlitheringIdiot/pseuds/YouBlitheringIdiot
Summary: Prequel to the canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes.How and why did Sirius Black reveal Remus' secret to Snape?
Comments: 20
Kudos: 17





	The Prank - Boys Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abcjosiet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abcjosiet/gifts), [bluebirdling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebirdling/gifts), [maraudermeryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudermeryn/gifts).



> This is a prequel to the canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes. If you enjoyed that fic, I hope you like this prequel, which centres around events in the marauders' 5th Year leading up to The Prank. It will be around 4-5 chapters long max. If you haven't read it, it won't make any difference.
> 
> This is for abcjosiet, maraudermeryn and bluebirdling - who have all been really vocally supportive of We Can Be Heroes in recent weeks - as a thank you!

**Chapter 1: Gone Away**

_I would tell you  
That I loved you  
If I thought that you would stay  
But I know that it's no use  
That you've already  
Gone away_

Boys Don’t Cry (The Cure)

The Summer holidays loomed over him, like a tsunami. Even in his dreams. He had started having horrifically realistic nightmares. Standing barefoot in a sandy cove, screaming at his mother, who suddenly disappeared, replaced by a towering wall of water, drowning him. He’d woken up drenched in sweat. Standing in Orion’s study, listening as his father told him “we are not giving you a watch for your seventeenth, we don’t love you, you don’t deserve it”, Regulus stepping forwards, both arms outstretched, as his father placed a vintage, platinum watch on each of his wrists. Oddly, they reminded him of handcuffs. He had woken up crying, for some godforsaken reason. Disgusted at himself. He didn’t care about his parents. He didn’t care. He refused to care.

He swiped angrily at his eyes and threw the bedclothes over himself in frustration. He had hardly slept in the past few weeks, three hours a night, at most. If he’d known, James would have described it as one fucking thing after another. Remus would have called it “an unfortunate concatenation of events”. How did he always have the right word for every single possible scenario? It was incredibly attractive. Well, he presumed girls would think that. If he were a girl. Never mind, that didn’t even make sense…

He called it a clusterfuck. And he was right.

His dismay about the Summer. His abortive attempts to talk to Reg. The ever-growing open hostilities between the Marauders and the Pureblood Pricks. Including, but by no means limited to, the recent Peter Pantsing Episode, which had earned him two weeks of detention. Yet somehow, the bastard had only ended up with one week. Fuck him.

“Wow. The level of skill and wit that it must take to cast _Levicorpus_ and then stand underneath him and call him names, not even inventive ones… so impressive, so mentally and technically _challenging_ …” Sirius’ voice had oozed contempt as he advanced alone towards the group of tossers, wand out.

A few of them immediately broke eye contact with Peter’s figure, hovering near the corridor ceiling, arms flailing about helplessly. Their spells broken, Peter lurched downwards with a fearful yelp. Mulciber didn’t, wand still pointing up at his friend, a cruel sneer on his face.

“Hello, Coz,” he smiled. “We were just telling him that there are penalties to pay for hanging around with blood traitor scum like you, Black. That it’s your fault we picked on him, and will do so again. So much for calling them your friends, Black. If you even knew what a loyal friend was, you’d have distanced yourself from them all months ago.”

Sirius’ footsteps faltered momentarily.

“Oh yes, because I’m friends with every single muggleborn in the school, such a popular guy.”

His laughter sounded harsh. If there was one good thing he had believed about himself, it was that he was a loyal friend. _Mulciber’s messing with your head, old chap_ , he tried to reassure himself, sounding exactly like Prongs’ Mother Hen ramblings.

“Missed him, did you, your boring, talentless, useless friend? The one you allow to hang out with you, out of pity. What’s his name again? Oh yes. Peter Pitiful. Here to check up on your pathetic little half-blood friend? Surprised you noticed him gone, your boring, fat little-“

Peter’s face, which was already squirming with embarrassment at the current pantsing, turned puce and shut his eyes. Sirius felt his body jolt from cool and collected to mildly enraged within a split second. His wrist flicked sideways as a lime green spell burst out of his wand, catching Muliber in the stomach.

“You were saying?” he drawled, still walking towards them, and laughing at the collective intake of breath.

They had seen a green spell and assumed he was throwing an A.K.

_Really?_

It ought to have surprised him. It didn’t.

He watched with grim satisfaction as Mulciber puked onto his patent shoes. The other boys backed away from him, wands drawn. Peter tried to twist his head around to watch, looking seasick as his back arched and his limbs continued to flail. His trousers were hanging down and his red boxers with the yellow teddy bears, his Last Resort Boxers, were peeking out. Sirius felt a wave of additional second-hand embarrassment at this fact. He was going to throw those damned things in the bin.

“Expelliarmus!”

His wand slipped through his grasp and he swore under his breath. Merlin, fuck! Of course, someone else had to be holding Peter up at that point, someone hidden from sight. He felt magic course through his fingertips as a silent cushioning charm bounced Peter sideways, and he landed with a groan nearby, revealing Severus Snape.

“Snivellus, grovelling in the shadows? How terribly unexpected,” he said, straightening his shoulders.

“ _Levicorpus!”_ said Snape.

The spell just missed him by a hair’s breadth.

“If you were dying to see my dick, Sniv, you could have just asked,” he said casually, hand reaching for the buttons on his fly.

“No!” Snape said, looking horrified as Sirius’ fly opened.

“What? No comparing sizes? What’s wrong with it? I thought a chap with as large a honker as you would have a solid sized prick, no? Is it a bit wonky, a bit hooked, then?”

He shook his head and tut-tutted at the greasy bastard, with a condescending look of commiseration. Peter snorted into his jumper quietly, trying to avoid attention. Even Avery smiled despite himself. They tolerated Snape, because of his fascination (and associated skill) with the dark arts. But in their eyes, he was still only a half-blood.

“Oh well, maybe next time?” Sirius said, shrugging his shoulders as he closed the buttons back up.

Snape’s face radiated pure hatred. Good. He hated the bastard too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter inching, shuffling, towards his wand, discarded near the wall. He was drawing attention to himself.

“Snivellus, Snivellus, I don’t think that Lily Evans would be too pleased to hear what you were up to today, or what spells you were inventing,” he said, stepping in front of Peter. “The question is, should I tell her?”

Avery, Mulciber, Wilkes and Rosier turned to look at Snape.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Snape said through his teeth.

“Oh. Really? Do you not?” Sirius said, watching as Peter crawled at a snail’s pace. “Red-head, feisty, clever, popular? Who for some daft reason seems to consider you a friend?”

“Our mothers are acquaintances,” Snape said, playing with the cuff of his shirtsleeve and avoiding eye contact with the other Slytherins. “That’s all.”

“Ah, mere acquaintances?” Sirius said, smacking his forehead dramatically. “My bad.”

Peter was only a foot away from it.

“I must remind her that’s what you two are,” he said, carelessly tying his hair back into a high bun.

Snape opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. He could see the turmoil on the other boy’s face, unable to say anything incriminatory in front of the others. He smiled at Snape. Mockingly.

Which was probably not his cleverest move, as a livid Snape, wanting to impress his friends, with a wand pointing at him, meant trouble.

 _“_ _Etcorrumpamsomnustuus!”_

He wasn’t paying enough attention as Snape’s next curse flew straight at him and caught him on the ribs, rendering him breathless. It sent a strange feeling through his limbs, rather as though a cold shadow had passed right through him.

Snape’s friends waited with bated breath. Nothing happened.

“Singularly unimpressive, for such a long-assed spell,” Sirius said, stifling an imaginary yawn.

He could see the other purebloods thought so too. Snape kept his eyes hidden by his curtain of hair. A sudden, inexplicably strong urge to see Snape humiliated seized him.

“You know, if you’re going to invent pervy spells like _Levicorpus_ , and then use them on us chaps, you’d have to wonder what team you play for, Snivellus? Anything you’re not telling us?”

This time, Avery and Muciber both laughed. It was no secret they were all bigoted, homophobic bastards. A heavy feeling settled on his chest, rather like guilt. Or shame. Or both. Peter’s shoulders were shaking with quiet laughter and part of him wanted to kick him. Snape had turned white, looking silently between him and his “friends”. Sirius raised his perfectly arched left eyebrow at him and smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

“I’m not gay, Black!” Snape spat out, suddenly finding his voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you are, though, you freak!”

Sirius laughed, long and steady and relaxed, tossing his dark silky hair to the side and winking at Peter, who was also laughing at this one.

“Oh yes, it’s a well-known fact that Sirius Black is gay,” he said eventually, holding his sides and wiping tears from his eyes. “Ask anyone. Although, I’d rather be gay than be you, no offense, Snivellus.”

Peter laughed again and Sirius clenched his jaw.

"The greasy git doth protest too much, methinks," he rasped, with a fake grin, trying to hide his discomfort.

_“Sectumsempra!”_

The curse slashed his pectoral muscles. This time, he knew it wasn’t a dud. Blood oozed from the wound, a dark stain spreading across his chest, his jumper feeling sodden in seconds.

“That’s a profound level of protest, Sniv,” Sirius said, absently staring at the spreading warmth on his jumper. “Now that I think of it, you haven’t dated anyone publicly, makes complete sense. Did he dump you, to put you in such rotten form, old chap?”

“Shut up!” whispered Snape, still looking murderous.

“Nice one, Snape,” said Mulciber, nodding approvingly. “Better than the previous one.”

“Padfoot!”

He turned, feeling lightheaded.

“Surely not worth killing me over that little jibe, Snivellus,” he said, sounding remarkably nonchalant as he sank to his knees. “You’re so high maintenance.”

Peter was beside him within seconds.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” he said, looking at Sirius’ face, which had beads of sweat on it and looked remarkably pale. “Snape, do something!”

“Do what?” Muciber laughed, leaning against the stone wall.

Snape looked torn, glancing up and down the corridor. It seemed he hadn’t expected the spell to cut so deeply. Perhaps the sheer hatred as he cast it had increased its efficacy?

“He’s going to bleed out!” Peter said, sounding terrified as he muttered one healing charm after another. “Snape!”

“Didn’t quite see you landing in Azkaban this early, mind you. Thought you’d wait till after NEWTs at least,” Sirius added.

The world was spinning. If he died now it would be such an inconvenience, and frankly so infuriating, to be offed by that greasy snake in such a pointless manner.

“Sorry, Wormy,” he muttered.

For some reason, the sight of him apologising seemed to scare Peter more than the pool of blood around them.

“You won’t get away with this!” Peter yelled at Snape, half standing, as though debating whether he had time to run off and get help.

“Clean up the evidence, Snape,” Rosier hissed softly, as Slughorn’s rotund figure appeared at the far end of the corridor.

Snape turned as the others melted into the background. Mumbling quietly, he pointed his wand at Sirius and the blood drained, syphoned off from around them, the cut closing over until all that was left was a minor, practically invisible scar.

“I say! What’s this then, chaps?” Slughorn said, panting from the minor exertion. “Mr Snape?”

“Well, for starters, Snivellus tried to exsanguinate me,” said Sirius, trying to lift his head, unsuccessfully.

“Mr Black, please don’t exaggerate,” Slughorn said, huffing with annoyance. “Mr Snape?”

Of course, Snape was one of his favourite students. _Fuck._

“Black was bullying me and I simply defended myself, Professor,” Snape said.

“Ah, hang on now!” Peter squeaked indignantly. “You practically killed him! There was blood everywhere!”

Slughorn peered around the dark corridor, his wand held aloft, and sighed irritably. The stone floor was spotless.

“Pettigrew always lies to cover up for Black & Potter, Professor, you know he does! He can’t be trusted!”

Snape was such a bastard. Peter was an excellent liar and usually this helped him and James out tremendously. Usually.

“Let’s not blame Mr Snape for defending himself, Mr Pettigrew,” said Slughorn, patting his forehead with a large, monogrammed handkerchief.

“Defending himself? That ugly bastard had-“ Sirius said, trying and failing to sit up again.

“Don’t lie, Mr Black!” Slughorn said, looking annoyed and hassled. “Do you deny you were bullying him?”

Sirius paused. If he was, it was well deserved in this case.

“I rest my case,” Slughorn continued, giving him a pointed look.

“They were bullying Peter!” Sirius scoffed.

Slughorn looked at Peter who squirmed uncomfortably under his stern gaze and said nothing.

“Two weeks’ detention to you, Mr Black, and one week to Mr Snape,” Slughorn sighed, folding his magenta handkerchief.

“Fuck off?” said Sirius, looking at Slughorn in disgust. “You’re having me on!”

“Or three weeks, Mr Black, and I can keep going, into the Summer Holidays, if you wish.”

“Could you?” said Sirius, with a hopeful look.

Slughorn’s plump hand went back to his forehead, looking pained. Clearly Slughorn had plans for his Summer break.

“Mr Black, this conversation is at an end, please leave.”

Sirius tried to stand with Peter’s help, unsuccessfully.

Slughorn sighed deeply and walked off, hands in his tiny waistcoat pockets. Snape gave Sirius a twisted smile and walked away.

“I’ll get you back, Snivellus,” he tried to call out after the thin, stooping figure.

His voice sounded weak. Snape kept walking.

“Get Prongs, will you?” Sirius said, lying back down and closing his eyes.

“Sure,” Peter sounded like he was dying to leave.

“And thanks so much for fucking standing up for me, by the way, Pettigrew,” he said. “Next time I’ll let them pants you to their hearts’ content.”

“I…” Peter had fumbled awkwardly, eyes twitching sideways. “I didn’t want… it’s so cringy, telling Sluggy about the pantsing.”

Sometimes he looked like a rat in human form, Sirius thought, unkindly.

“I nearly died because of you, Wormy, but God forbid you endure some minor embarrassment.”

He probably _was_ exaggerating. Peter mumbled apologies and practically flew towards the stairs.

Slughorn didn’t believe him. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it. But why should he be surprised? Hadn’t the same thing happened to him growing up? His parents had specifically used Nocere spells to punish him - spells like Vomitans Incipere, Venter Infirmum, Caliditas et Delerius - they made you puke your guts out, bile rising, delerius with fever, but they didn’t leave any lasting scars. Nothing to even hint at the pain he had endured. No proof. Nothing.  
  
A liar and a Drama Queen, once again.  
  
He looked up at the slanted arched ceiling. The thought of going home made him feel hopeless. He could feel tears in his eyes _. Boys don’t cry, he told himself viciously, you are not a fucking coward, Sirius Black._

“Sirius?”

He must have been semi-conscious; he hadn’t heard anyone approaching.

“Reg.”

He was going for casual. But his voice sounded weak, his mouth dry.

“Why are you lying on the floor in the middle of a corridor?”

It was such a Reg question, he couldn’t help a small smile.

“No particular reason,” he said.

Reg stood staring down at him, silently, a serious look on his face, one hand in a clenched fist, the other grasping tightly onto the strap of his bag, overflowing with books. He could never tell when Sirius was lying.  
  
“You look cold,” he said eventually. “And, you are very pale. Mama would not approve. It looks wanton, lying there. Plus, you might catch your death of cold.”

Sirius snorted.

“Surely a plus, in her eyes,” he said bitterly.

Reg aimed a heating charm at his chest and Sirius winced.

“I’m fine,” he said, opening his eyes and staring anxiously at his brother. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

He couldn’t afford to heat up and divert any blood flow away from his vital organs. Thank Godric he’d been paying attention in last week’s DADA class.

“If you are utterly sure?” Reg asked, looking conflicted.

“Very,” Sirius said.

Regulus muttered a counter charm.

“Mama would not approve of you lying there,” he repeated.

A small laugh escaped his lips. Rather like a sob, and he closed his eyes immediately.

“She would. She really would.”

Reg was silent for at least another five minutes. It wasn’t uncomfortable. He was used to Reg not talking.

“Goodbye then,” Regulus said stiffly.

Sirius had only just noticed how tightly he gripped the strap of his satchel. How tense his shoulders were. Poor Reggie. Was he worried about him? Unlikely. More worried about what to report back to his parents.

_In case I don’t see you again, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for not trying harder. For not being a good enough brother…_

“Have you been smoking illicit weeds?” Reg said, turning back to look at him.

He was halfway down the dim corridor now, unable to see his face. Sirius shook his head faintly.

“Are you sure? You sound a bit drunk, actually,” Reg said.

He didn’t say anything this time. It was too complicated. He was too exhausted to start grilling Reg about his upcoming exams. Fuck Snape, he had wasted an incredible opportunity to talk with his little brother.

“Are you crying, Sirius?” Reg said, walking back towards his brother hesitantly.

Sirius shut his eyes tightly. Walburga and Orion were not going to hear that their useless, eldest son was crying helplessly by himself on a corridor floor.

“Drunk. I’m drunk, Reggie.”

Regulus stopped.

“I knew something was wrong. You.... you shouldn’t drink Sirius, it’s bad for you. And you also shouldn’t lie. You’re setting a bad example, actually. I’m… I’m disappointed in you.”  
  
“Nothing new, then,” Sirius said quietly.

***

As he lay on his back shivering violently, waiting for Prongs, he let his mind wander back to his last meeting with Rufus Greengrass, the previous night.

“Rufus,” he had said, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from the older student’s lips.

“Um?” Rufus said, blowing out smoke through his mouth and sighing contentedly.

“What if this means we’re gay?”

Rufus turned to look at him with a confused expression on his handsome face.

“You mean us meeting like this, regularly, on the Astronomy Tower chemin de ronde? For a snog?”

“Yes. Your French accent is lovely, by the way,” he said. “You should speak French more often.”

“Thanks. Er. What do you think it means?” Rufus asked carefully, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the cold.

“This?” Sirius asked, inhaling deeply.

He watched the moonlight glinting off Rufus’ auburn curls, highlighting his crumpled white shirt and swollen lips.

“Experimentation? Rebellion? Boredom? I have no idea.”

The Seventh Year Slytherin student looked at him momentarily and sighed. He gently removed the cigarette from Sirius’ mouth and took a long, unhurried drag.

“No idea?” he repeated, rolling his eyes in a fond way.

“No,” Sirius said.

“Being gay would be a terrible nuisance for you,” Rufus eventually replied. “My parents would be about as thrilled as your parents, if that was the case. They need every child to further the bloodline, Merlin forbid that the numbers of purebloods should diminish.”

Sirius shuddered.

“Doesn’t bear thinking about,” he said.

“No,” Rufus agreed, with a reassuring squeeze of his biceps. “I’ll be finished school after NEWTs in a few weeks, so you won’t need to figure it out just yet.”

Sirius nodded.

He had wanted to tell the other pureblood that he would miss him, and that he would miss kissing him. But it sounded stupid and weird, so he didn’t.

***

Prongs had eventually arrived with Peter, and had believed everything he said, straight away. It had taken him every ounce of self-restraint not to bawl.

***

And so this morning, as had been the case from the past fortnight, he lay on his bed, exhausted, having slept for three hours at most. Staring at the tiny footprints, bunched up, close together, a gnawing, burning feeling in his chest. He didn’t know what it was. Rage, he imagined. Rage was fine, although he hated himself that it mattered to him, when Regulus had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with him. Rage was nothing like caring. Rage was fine, healthy even. He tossed the map aside and lay there on his bed, wishing he were different. Peter was also lying on his own bed, daydreaming, sucking a lemon sherbet lolly, hand flicking through a Quidditch magazine. He knew Peter had slept for at least ten hours.

“Can you stop making that infernal noise? It’s driving me insane!” he snapped, causing the blond-haired boy to nearly fall off his bed.

“Sorry,” Peter muttered, sounding a bit peeved.

He went back to licking the sweet, quieter, but no less infuriating.

“Merlin, fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

He knew that Peter could hear him. The licking stopped. He heaved a sigh of relief. Such an irritable bastard. He was quite sure one of these days his friends would lose patience with him and kick him out of the Marauders’ dorm. Kick him out of the Marauders, altogether, if he wasn’t careful.

He had never been much good at being careful.

Why couldn’t he sleep? He was just so fucking tired of it all.

After a while he picked up the map again, on a whim, and glared as he saw the footprints still congregated together – Regulus Black, Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Hugo Avery. What the ever-living fuck did his little brother want with those bastard wankers from his year? What were they doing to him? What lies were they feeding him? He wanted to hurl something across the room, shatter the glass window looking idly out over the grounds, the photograph of the Potters, all three of them looking adoringly into each other’s faces and laughing, carefree. Rip Peter’s muggle poster of Farrah bloody Fawcett into shreds. Throw Remus’ chocolate out of the- no, he would never do that to Remus. Remus had enough shit going on in his life, he didn’t need a pathetic, rich, pureblood, useless little fuck feeling sorry for himself, and making his life any more stressful than it already was.

_Selfish, useless, pathetic boy, you’ll end up on your own, nobody’s going to want you._

He hated that he could hear his mother’s cold, vicious tone so clearly in his head, see her face as vividly as though he were watching a muggle film, at the most inconvenient times.

Fuck everything.

Apparently, he had said that last bit out loud, as James Potter, who had just walked out of the bathroom looked over at him with a slight frown. He was wearing a white towel around his tanned waist and vigorously towelling his obnoxious hair with another one. It nearly made him forget how angry he was supposed to be in favour of teasing his best friend for having such a bird’s nest on his head.

“Alright, Padfoot?” he said, squinting at Sirius because he was blind and could see jack shit without his coke bottle glasses.

“Spiffing,” he said, putting on his best pureblood sneer.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to have any effect on Prongs, who was obviously as stupid as he was visually challenged. He walked over towards Sirius’ bed, casually, stopped right beside him, towering over him.

“What?” he barked, making his voice as rude and offensive as he could.

James stood there, still towelling his hair, unperturbed, not speaking, probably trying to think of a diplomatic way to find out what was wrong with him.

“Spit it out, Pads,” he said after a beat.

Diplomatic my arse.

“No,” Sirius replied, moving away from James and scowling as his gaze fell back down to the map lying by his side.

“Fuck off,” he added, in case the idiot hadn’t gotten the message.

James made a non-committal sound and stayed put. He put on his specs and said nothing. Sirius couldn’t stand the silence, he knew that James knew this too, that it was one of James’ favourite tactics to get him to talk and he hated James, hated himself that couldn’t cope with the silence, because if he started talking, he’d probably tell him everything. And even worse, he might cry. And Sirius had never, ever, not once, in all their years in Hogwarts, ever cried in front of his friends. He may have found himself a disused classroom and cried, after the first time he saw Remus transform and watched him turn back to himself, lying curled up in a ball, hissing with pain when they tried to help him, maintaining he didn’t need any help, that he was fine. But not in front of his mates, never in front of them.

“If you don’t fuck off this instant-“ he growled, his voice trembling so he had to stop mid-sentence.

“Reg, is it?” James said, glancing at the map which he forgot to hide from view.

Fucking hell. He knew from bitter experience that there was no point trying to beat James when he was on one of his Mother Hen missions.

“Yes, you prick,” he said flatly, folding the map, too late.

James grunted something vague and moved to sit on his bed, opposite Sirius. He was just back from a gruelling additional hour of Quidditch practice, early morning practice (the weirdo), and he looked healthy and youthful and purposeful and kind. And it annoyed seven kinds of shite out of Sirius.

“Mixing with the wrong crowd again?” James said, more a statement than a question.

“Whatever,” Sirius replied, dismissive.

“I’m sorry,” James said, after a pause.

He looked less certain now, his hazel eyes scanning Sirius’ face, wanting to make things better for him. Well, he couldn’t, Sirius thought, with vicious smugness. Even the wonderful James Potter couldn’t solve his problems. Because Sirius himself _was_ his biggest problem.

He laughed. It came out sounding bitter and too watery for his liking.

“You can’t… if he doesn’t want you to help him, you can’t make him…” James said, running a hand through his hair.

“Never stopped you before,” Sirius said, folding his arms protectively over his chest.

James rolls his eyes at Sirius, but there’s no anger in them.

“Yeah, well, I’m odd, I’m a… a lost cause,” the messy haired boy replied.

He hated how stubborn, how dogged, this boy was. Sometimes he wanted to see how far he would have to push him away to lose him altogether.

“I don’t think Reg… I don’t think he’s able to, I don’t think he would be allowed to…” James continued.

“Fucking coward!” Sirius said, wishing he didn’t sound so bloody bothered by it all.

James looked over again, tossing a red t-shirt over his head.

“You’ve got me. I’m your brother now,” James said, quietly, confidently.

Sirius clenched his jaw. He would not cry, Merlin, damn it.

“You’re not my brother, Potter,” he said.

Derisively, dismissively, coldly.

He watched a flicker of hurt cross James’ face, replaced by something else. He watched as his friend picked up an apple and bit into it, placing a hand behind his head, crossing his long legs.

“I know that,” James said. “But you’re mine.”

***

There was no air in his chest. Exams were starting tomorrow, and if he didn’t talk to Reg and sort it all out beforehand, as he had done for the past two years, Reg was at risk of serious repercussions when he faced their father. So was he, but that was unavoidable.

Plus, arguing with Reg was less stressful than listening to James Fleamont Potter say things that made his heart feel like it was about to implode. Even if it involved the risk of fighting four to one against pureblood bigots, which, for once, he wasn’t keen on. He had refused to let Prongs bring him to the Infirmary after Snape’s attack, because he was being annoying. And because Poppy probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. And because he wasn’t at all sure he deserved to feel better after what he had said. But it had left him feeling drained, his magic depleted.

“You’re a fucking ponce,” he tried to say, but his lungs weren’t cooperating, so he made his point by slamming the door shut instead.

***

**Notes**

It is canon that Snape invented _Levicorpus_ and _Sectumsempra_

This is the prequel to [We Can Be Heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12512868)

Come find me on tumblr if you want to chat: [blitheringmcgonagall](https://blitheringmcgonagall.tumblr.com/post/640496677018583040/do-you-have-a-master-list-of-your-fics)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who may be reading this, and to those who also read and/or commented on We Can Be Heroes - I would love to hear your thoughts! 
> 
> Special thanks to recent loveliest readers who made my day, such as DearJames, thegraylady514, The_Dream_Team and to all the wonderful friends who supported the original fic as I wrote it - huge thank you, you know how much I valued you xxxxxx
> 
> PS I feel like Sirius offering to compare sizes must have been written already?? If yes, I am sorry, he's being repetitive...


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